


Very Good Bad Thing

by isozyme



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dubious Consent, F/M, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Scene Gone Wrong, steve rogers to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/pseuds/isozyme
Summary: Sometimes Tony came back from his weekly Tuesday evenings with Whitney with scabs on his back and chest. He seemed hazy and touch-shy those nights. Steve was certain he was making it up. Any misgivings plaguing Steve were evidence he was selfish in his relationship with Tony and, by extension, Whitney. Nothing more.When Tony and Whitney open their relationship so Tony can date Steve as well, Steve struggles to adjust to modern ideas about polyamory and kink. But no matter how hard he tries not to be jealous, it feels like something's wrong.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Whitney Frost/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Whitney Frost/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 210
Collections: Team Angst





	Very Good Bad Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SteveTony Games bingo square “Tony's Evil Exes.” Go Team Angst!
> 
> Could also be summarized as, "Whitney is bad fucking news + Steve saves Tony from a _**VERY UPSETTING**_ kinky evening." Rated M because it doesn't _quite_ edge into explicit territory, but ymmv.
> 
> Title from [Very Good Bad Thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsYDpUetROE) by Mother Mother. Thanks to my cheer reading pals and Hopelesse for betaing!

The theory he understood: Whitney wouldn’t be jealous when Tony started dating Steve as well because it would make Tony happy, and when Tony was happy, she was happy. In the same vein, Steve couldn’t begrudge Tony for still having a girlfriend. Tony deserved more love than one person had to give, and Steve was gone a lot; he knew that. Whitney was beautiful and lonely and she’d gotten to Tony first while Steve dithered around. She was more than generous, and mentioned often that they could scene with Tony together if he ever wanted.

The feelings Steve was having were obviously rooted in jealousy, and if he wanted this to work — he did, he wanted that so much — he needed to push them down.

Whitney was more experienced with the open relationship stuff than Steve was. She’d been the one who brought it up, mentioning subtly and then not-so-subtly that Tony was pining after him, then sending him scans of magazine articles that said a person could have more than one partner at a time, if everyone agreed. Steve could have Tony the easy way — no cheating, no breakups — as long as he remembered how to share. 

There was also the sadism part, which Whitney was more than happy to help with. She taught Steve how to work a flogger and ran through a list of every single act she’d discovered Tony liked in bed. It was awkward, hearing so much about how Whitney and Tony fucked, but when Steve tried out the things Whitney suggested — well — he couldn’t deny the sex was damn good.

Sometimes Tony came back from his weekly Tuesday evenings with Whitney with scabs on his back and chest. He seemed hazy and touch-shy those nights. Steve was certain he was making it up. Any misgivings plaguing Steve were evidence he was selfish in his relationship with Tony and, by extension, Whitney. Nothing more.

“Do you want me to go harder on you in bed?” Steve asked. He’d never been bold enough to draw blood, but Whitney obviously was. 

“You’re perfect,” Tony said, and kissed him silly. 

“But Whitney —”

“But nothing,” Tony said. “I like everything you do, so much. Whitney is...different. It’s not better or worse. That’s not how this works.”

There was discomfort in Tony’s tone, and Steve resigned himself to having his ego coddled whenever he tried to compare himself to Tony’s girlfriend. Tony knew how to treat them both equally. 

It was Steve who had the problem. 

The issue was depressingly simple: Steve wasn’t cut out for modern ideas about love and multiple partners. He was getting paranoid, looking for things that weren’t there. He left bruises on Tony’s wrists sometimes too. It felt weird when Whitney had gotten so _touchy_ about Steve being Tony’s emergency contact instead of her, but that was just a feeling. 

Tony wanted Steve and Whitney to be friends, so he organized friendly lunches and visits to art galleries for just the three of them every couple of weeks. Steve would try to be nice and instead spend the entire time obsessing over how Tony seemed a little dimmer around Whitney. He’d start to explain something marvelous he was making in his workshop, face glowing as he described a new type of diode, and then he’d stop, remembering himself, and it would fade away. Then he’d turn to Whitney and give her a chance to brag about something she’d accomplished recently while Steve’s stomach churned with resentment. He tried to remember that he got more time with Tony than Whitney did, since he and Tony lived and worked together. Tony was allowed to want to hear about Whitney’s life while she was around. 

It came to a head when Steve was working his way through a pack of mooks alongside the rest of the Avengers and Spider-Man. They were on the trail of another one of Kingpin’s nasty smuggling rings, and were obviously getting close. It was a chaotic fight on the floor of a cramped, illegal casino. Steve kept slipping on spilled playing cards. 

Iron Man’s bright helm popped up from behind a toppled blackjack table, and for a moment all Steve saw was _mask_ and _gold_ and he was filled with irrational, seething rage. His next punch caught Kingpin’s nearest goon in the back of the head with a crunch, and the man dropped to the floor instantly in a heap. Steve gasped and knelt beside the prone body, yanking off a glove to feel for a pulse. Iron Man leapt to cover him, palms up, because the face had been Tony, not Whitney, and Steve had been so angry —

The downed man groaned, and Steve went almost dizzy with relief. He hadn’t killed him. 

It had been too close. Something needed to change.

The break up would make Tony sad, but Steve couldn’t do it any longer, not if other people were going to get hurt.

◈

Steve knew he had to tell Tony he was leaving, but he didn’t want to. There were so many things he still wanted to do with Tony. Steve wanted to kiss him on the ice rink at Rockefeller Square. He wanted to try out that thing with the swing Tony mentioned. They hadn’t had an anniversary yet. They hadn’t gone to the botanical gardens to feed the koi.

So he procrastinated. On Thursday Tony had a bad day at work — Steve shouldn’t make his evening worse. On Friday Tony was away in DC, and Steve wasn’t going to break up with him over the phone. Saturday was team meeting day and it would be awkward with all the other Avengers hanging around. Sunday Tony had a date planned with Whitney, and it would be rude to ruin it with drama. 

On Sunday afternoon Steve promised himself no more excuses. Waiting was making him miserable, and Tony had started shooting him concerned glances whenever they chanced across each other. Monday was the day. Tomorrow.

Whitney picked Tony up Sunday evening at six. Steve waved goodbye from the grand staircase, admiring how Tony looked in his sharp suit. He and Whitney made a smart pair, matched in black and white, Tony’s cufflinks glinting gold to match Whitney’s jewelry. They were good together, Steve thought. Tony would be okay. 

Filled with too much pent up energy, Steve took Clint’s spot on the patrol rotation for the night. It was nice to pound the pavement, and it kept his mind from wandering too much. 

Around half-past eight, he got a message on his identicard from Tony. 

_Hey hun, Whitney’s got unexpected guests at her place and wants to stay over at the mansion tonight. I wouldn’t ask but it seems like it would make her really happy — your call. If it’s not okay with you we can get a hotel room, no problem._

One of the rules they’d established at the outset was that Tony and Whitney wouldn’t sleep together at the mansion when Steve was in town. The wall between his and Tony’s room was too thin, and Steve had found out quickly that he couldn’t handle lying in bed, listening to Tony yelp in happy pain followed by groans of satisfied pleasure, without being jealous and surly the next morning. Among other things, that was what made Steve reluctant to have the threesome Whitney kept badgering him about. Seeing would be a thousand times worse than hearing.

Steve could say no — Tony was never mad when he set a boundary, and would stand up for him even when Whitney argued that Steve was being unreasonable. But Steve was planning to break up with Tony, and it seemed unfair to be possessive. 

_Don’t worry, I’m out on patrol and won’t be back until late. Have fun!_ Steve sent. 

He stuffed the card a little too forcefully into his belt pouch, then trotted off in search of more would-be muggers.

◈

Steve stayed out on patrol until about midnight, then decided to head back in. Tony and Whitney were probably asleep, he thought, and the streets were as quiet as New York ever got, which meant still noisy, but in a peaceful way.

He got home, showered, and fell into bed with a groan. Knowing that Tony was cuddled up with someone else — with _Whitney_ — one wall away was awful. More evidence he wasn’t cut out for dating with multiple partners involved.

A giggle and a moan drifted through the closed door that led to Tony’s room. Steve rolled over and planted his face in his pillow. Whitney and Tony were not asleep. They were still having fun. 

A slap and a sharp cry made it clear what kind of fun it was. 

On the long list of things Steve didn’t want to hear, Tony having kinky sex with someone else was pretty high. It rivaled “Red Skull was behind it after all” for day-ruining. At least Steve was allowed to punch Red Skull. Whitney was off limits.

_I should go downstairs and sleep on the couch,_ Steve thought. 

_Maybe they’ll be done soon._

The sounds only increased. Steve tried putting his head under the pillow, then tried humming to himself, then both at once. Nothing helped.

It was starting to get intense in the other room. Tony kept getting louder, and Steve started hearing indistinct words that sounded like bargaining, then begging. Whatever Whitney was doing sounded like it was causing Tony real pain.

Steve shook his head and piled on another pillow. He was being paranoid again. Tony enjoyed getting spanked and made to plead for orgasms. Steve had learned more than a couple things about himself when he started sleeping with Tony, and one of them was that he appreciated the glow of a well-warmed ass under his palm. He heard Tony yelp and smiled — that’s my man, enjoying himself — and then Tony let out a full-throated scream.

Steve was out of bed so fast he almost ripped the sheets. He fumbled for a light switch, then stared at the door between his room and Tony’s, chest heaving, waiting for the next sound. There were a few smacks and whimpers, each one lighting Steve up with tension. He couldn’t do anything about it: it would be beyond inappropriate to interrupt Tony and Whitney just because he was feeling possessive and overprotective. Tony was an adult and he and Whitney could play as hard as they wanted. If Steve couldn’t sleep he could always go crash on the couch.

Then Tony screamed again like it was being ripped out of his throat and Steve couldn’t do it. He needed to know Tony wasn’t being injured. He would open the door just a crack — enough to hear Tony’s words more clearly and make sure he was okay, not so much he’d get an eyeful. 

Very carefully, Steve turned the knob. It wasn’t locked — Tony never locked the door between their rooms — and Steve eased the door open just a sliver. The hinges were well-oiled and didn’t make a whisper; Steve sent a silent thank you to Jarvis for how well he maintained the mansion.

In Tony’s bedroom there was a smack, then a strangled sob. 

“Mercy!” Tony begged, quiet and broken. “Mercy, please, oh god.”

Whitney’s voice — “Hush, baby boy, I’m barely touching you. It’s just a little pain, sweetie, you know you like it.”

Steve heard another crack and the jingle of restraints as Tony moved. 

“If you loved me properly, you’d thank me for this. Taking the time to teach you what you really need.”

“I love you, I swear,” Tony gasped.

This wasn’t what Tony sounded like when he was playing with Steve. Tony never begged Steve to stop; he was teasing and cheerful in bed, egging Steve on to hit him harder until he was a soft and eager mess of endorphins. The noises Tony was making were the same ones he made when he got injured in a fight. Steve knew Whitney played rougher than he did, but this — Steve wouldn’t be able to sleep until he laid eyes on Tony and convinced himself they were only pretending. 

Steve pushed the door open until he could see Tony and Whitney through the crack. Luckily Whitney’s back was to him and Tony was wearing a blindfold, so Steve wasn’t going to be caught staring right away. 

The scene in Tony’s bedroom made Steve’s stomach drop.

Tony’s hands were bound behind his back, and a rope ran from his wrists up to a ring in the ceiling. Whitney had pulled it tight until Tony was bent forward, shoulders wrenched back and up. There was a spreader bar holding his ankles apart, robbing him of height he could have used to take the strain off of his arms. His head was tipped back at a cruel angle, wide blindfold secured tight across his eyes, and another rope ran from the tie at the back of the blindfold to — Steve swallowed — to a bright metal hook anchored in his ass, so if his head fell forward it would yank on his insides until he brought it up again. 

Whitney stood beside him with a heavy leather strop in one gloved hand, and as Steve watched she brought it down with punishing force across the backs of Tony’s thighs. Tony’s body rocked forward from the impact, and he cried out as it put more strain on his joints.

It could have been sexy, seeing Tony so helpless, naked and suffering and beautifully bound. But the scene in front of Steve looked like torture.

_It’s role play, it has to be a game,_ Steve thought desperately. Whitney wouldn’t do that to Tony. Tony wouldn’t let her. 

_Wouldn’t he?_ Steve was forced to wonder. _Would he say no if he thought it was something you wanted?_

Steve wasn’t certain. 

Lurid bruises were already blooming from the apex of Tony’s ass almost all the way to the backs of his knees. Steve didn’t know how he was going to sit for days. 

Whitney hit Tony one more time; Tony convulsed, then started to struggle. Real, proper struggling, thrashing against his restraints with animal panic. Steve leaned forward on his toes, incapable of stillness while Tony jerked against the rope holding him. Steve held himself back, waiting for Whitney to break the scene, grab shears and cut the rope pulling Tony’s wrists toward the ceiling.

Instead, she laughed and stepped back to watch as Tony pulled blindly at his bonds. 

He didn’t think. Steve shouldered the door open wide, leapt across the room, and kicked Whitney flat. She landed on her stomach and wheezed as all the wind was knocked out of her lungs.

Steve’s mind registered _combatant down_ and moved on to the next step. He grabbed the rope suspending Tony with both hands and twisted it until the strands started to snap, then tore it the rest of the way apart. 

Freed from the strain on his shoulders, Tony fell. Steve was there to catch him.

“What’s happening, what’s going on? Whitney? Who’s there?” Tony cried, throwing his head back and forth, then trying to dislodge the blindfold by dragging it against Steve’s shirt. Steve snapped the buckle with one hand and pulled it away, revealing Tony’s face, streaked with red marks where the blindfold had cut into his skin and messy with tears. 

“Steve?” Tony asked, blinking wetly up at him. “Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, working on getting Tony settled on the bed. He had to get Tony out of the bondage quickly; his hands were already going red. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t let her, I’m sorry.”

Whitney rose to her knees and spat blood on the floor — her teeth must have cut the inside of her mouth as her mask hit the ground. Steve couldn’t find any sympathy in his heart. 

“What in the world do you think you’re doing here?” she asked venomously. 

“I could ask you the same!”

“I am engaging in consensual BDSM play with my _boyfriend_ ,” she hissed, then rose the rest of the way to her feet. Steve let Tony go to rest fully on the bed and stepped between them, shielding Tony with his body. 

“You were hurting him,” Steve said lowly. 

Whitney rolled her eyes behind the mask. “That’s the point. He likes it.”

“Not like this.”

“Does he not let you play rough with him?” Whitney asked, faux-sweet. “I suppose you’re new, and so inexperienced — it’s okay if he doesn’t trust you with the hardcore stuff, I’m sure in time…”

“Enough!” Steve shouted. 

“You’re his sweetheart, but this interruption is still a violation of our privacy,” Whitney said, not cowed. “Tell him to go, Tony, so we can start again.”

“Give me a minute,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Just — I need a minute.”

“Tell him!” Whitney snapped, and raised her hand to strike him again. 

Tony flinched. 

Steve moved. He grabbed Whitney’s wrist, twisted it around behind her back, and slammed her into the wall. She kicked him in the ankle and he just tightened his grip. “Keep your hands off of Tony.”

“Jealous?” Whitney spat. “That’s a shame. I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable sharing Tony with you after this breach of trust.”

Steve resisted the temptation to grab her by the hair and slam her head against the wall. “How long have you been hurting him like this?” he growled. “How long!”

“I told you. He _likes_ it,” Whitney hissed. “He’s a filthy little pervert who likes to be slapped and called a dirty whore. You know he does. You’ve done it with him.”

“Don’t fight,” Tony interrupted, calling weakly from where he lay limp across the foot of the bed. “Please, Steve, Whitney, I’m okay, don’t fight.”

“See? He’s fine.”

“You’re not okay,” Steve said, agony thudding in his chest.

“It’s my fault, I couldn’t find my center, I wasn’t letting it be good,” Tony said. His voice hitched and his brows knit in discomfort as he flexed his fingers. “I’ll reassess, do better next time.”

“Good boy,” Whitney purred. Steve held her fast and entertained violent thoughts. 

Tony’s voice was steadier when he spoke next. “Steve, if you could let Whitney away from the wall so she can find the key to these cuffs? My shoulders are done for the night.”

Warily, Steve backed off. Whitney turned around and crossed her arms. 

“I don’t think you’ve earned that yet,” Whitney said dangerously. 

Tony rolled up on his side and gave her a puzzled look. “Honey, I’m serious. I want to go to sleep.”

Whitney eeled around Steve and put one hand on Tony’s cheek. “Okay baby, how about a deal. You tell Steve to go downstairs and sleep on the couch, and we’ll see about putting you to bed.”

Tony’s gaze sharpened, and he tilted his head away from her touch. “Why won’t you uncuff me with Steve here?”

“He _assaulted_ me, my love. I’m not comfortable here with him.”

“Steve will go as soon as you take all this off of me,” Tony replied, voice firm and level.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Whitney said sharply, and slapped him in the face. 

Tony recoiled. The skin on his face that wasn’t marked with red welts went deathly pale. It had been a long time since Steve had seen Tony so coldly furious. 

Too late, Whitney recognized her mistake. Her demeanor changed from vicious to sycophantic as she backpedaled. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean it, I got so worked up because that man interrupted us, I wasn’t thinking. I love you, let’s get you free and we can cuddle. You’ll have some Gatorade and Advil and feel all better.”

“Steve,” Tony said, horribly soft and clear. “Can you remove Whitney from the room?”

“Sure,” Steve said, doing his best to cover his eagerness to pitch Whitney out on her ass. He took her firmly by the upper arm and dragged her off the bed, headed for the door. 

“How fucking dare you — “ Whitney yelled, but Steve was quick — he shoved her into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind her. 

“Lock it, lock it,” Tony gasped, all his composure gone in a flash. “Lock the damn door, and the other, your room, quick.”

Steve did. The click of deadbolts engaging made Tony visibly relax, and Steve’s heart shook. Something had been terribly wrong for a long time, and he never would have found out if not for tonight. 

“I don’t know where she put the keys,” Tony said raggedly. “I never know.”

“That’s all right,” Steve told him. “I’ll break the cuffs. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

◈

Getting Tony the rest of the way free was easy, helped along by Steve’s strong hands. He kicked the bondage gear under the bed as he peeled it off of Tony, and tried not to notice Tony’s shudder as Steve pulled the anal hook out of his ass. That too went under the bed with a swift kick.

Tony’s poor fingers were red and numb; Steve hoped he’d gotten the cuffs off him in time. Tony tried to move his shoulders and winced, letting his head fall down on the bed. He needed to move those joints eventually, or they’d freeze and hurt more down the road. Steve didn’t want to push him on that yet. He didn’t know how much more pain Tony could endure, even the healing kind.

“Can I get you water?”

Tony grimaced. “Hydration sounds great, but fine motor control isn't going to be my strong suit for the next half an hour.”

Steve couldn’t say what he wanted to say, which was that Steve would hold a glass to Tony’s lips for as long as it took. Tony’s pride wouldn’t tolerate it. Luckily —

“I have a plastic water bottle in my room; it’s a fancy one with the ice pack in the middle. No spill.”

“Maybe…” Tony’s eyes cut to the locked door, and Steve was ready to hog-tie Whitney and see how _she_ liked it, how she felt when someone was laughing as her shoulders twisted out of their sockets.

“I’ll be quick,” Steve promised. “Two minutes.”

That satisfied Tony. Steve hurried to his room, glad the bottle he’d brought on patrol was still mostly full of cool water. For a moment he worried that he’d drunk from it already and it wasn’t clean. Then he remembered that he regularly kissed Tony on the mouth, and a little spit wouldn’t hurt him.

As an afterthought, he grabbed a packet of electrolyte powder to mix in.

Tony hadn’t moved much when Steve got back, just scooted far enough up the bed that he could put his head on a pillow. How often did Whitney do this to him? Did she take care of him afterwards? Steve’s gut sizzled with acid. Would she comfort Tony while he was dazed and toothless, so she could bask in being more powerful than him? Tony was smarter and quicker than anyone, and it had taken Steve a long time to accept that Tony still saw him as an equal. Tony inspired people to be their best while they tried to keep up. Steve would never have considered beating Tony down to level the playing field.

“Plain or berry flavored?” Steve asked, showing Tony the water and the electrolyte powder sachet.

“Any particular berry?”

Steve checked the packet — he’d never considered that Berry should correspond to a real world fruit. It was just Berry Drink, like Coca Cola or Blue Gatorade. “No,” he said. “Just, um, red.”

Tony sighed massively. “Fine. Subpar, but acceptable. I sweated out a lot of salt and should replenish.”

It was encouraging that Tony could find the energy to complain. Steve offered the water bottle, and Tony got his hand around it with only a few winces and a muttered curse. He took a sip, made a face at the flavor, then drank deeply anyway.

Usually after a scene Tony would down half a liter of water, then sleepily request a massage or foot rub, which Steve was happy to give. That seemed insufficient tonight. Steve sat on the bed and didn’t know what to do with his hands. He folded them in his lap and waited. While Tony finished his energy drink, Steve checked surreptitiously for any additional damage. The marks on his face were fading, and after a minute Tony was able to prop himself up on his elbow, still on his side to keep pressure off of his bruised ass.

“So, that happened,” Tony said, when he was finished. His voice was brittle. “What made you come in?”

Steve swallowed. He wasn’t sure if he should be guilty or not for rushing through the door to rescue Tony.

“You screamed,” Steve said. The truth was simple, at least. “And it didn’t sound right.”

That got him a bleak laugh. “Always was loud in bed.”

Steve didn’t know what to say next. He was saved from having to come up with something when Tony continued without prompting.

“I never said no, you know. We have the same system as you and I, and she never — my consent was always given.” Tony said carefully. His voice wavered and he sniffed hard. “It was better not to tell her to stop. That way I didn’t have to learn if she would actually…”

“We should practice,” Steve said gently. “Us, together. Get me riled up, good and randy, and then you call the scene. So you know with me.”

“I already know with you,” Tony said, and his eyes suddenly welled up with tears. His lips tightened as he struggled to hold it in, but it was too late, his face crumpling against his will.

With careful movements Steve bundled Tony into his lap. He was hyper aware, straining to catch any tensing or flinches that would reveal that Tony didn’t want Steve to be touching him right now. None came. Tony simply buried his face in Steve’s soft sleep shirt and started to cry.

All of Steve’s instincts had been turned upside-down trying to make it work as a trio, and he’d almost left Tony in the path of Whitney’s whip. He’d known and he hadn’t known at the same time. Steve still wasn’t sure how much of his unease had stemmed from the pain of sharing Tony and how much had been the product of Whitney’s poison. He hoped Tony would break it off with Whitney. He hoped Whitney would let him go. He hoped he had enough love for Tony all on his own.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered over and over, rubbing lightly over Tony’s bare back.

Tony shook his head once in an emphatic, wordless negation.

_Of course it’s not okay. Nothing about tonight is okay._

Steve clasped the back of Tony’s neck, holding him closer. The muscles under his palm were strong, even while corded tight in misery. Tony could look after himself, with Steve or without. Tonight wasn’t okay, but Tony was resilient. He always found his way back home.

“It will be,” Steve promised.

◈


End file.
